


How to Spell Drunk

by annonwrite



Category: White Collar
Genre: Fluff, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 03:57:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7027504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annonwrite/pseuds/annonwrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While celebrating a successfully closed case, Peter and Neal get drunk. Neal tries to hide it from El. He fails. There may be giggling involved. Pre-OT3. Just a little adorableness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Spell Drunk

“That. Was. Awesome,” Peter says as he unlocks his front door.

“Did you see the look on his face when he realized you had him?” Neal asks. “Epic.”

“Moments like that make the long hours and sleepless nights worth it.” Satchmo greets them with a woof and a wagging tail. “I’m going to let him out. Be right back. Make yourself at home.”

Neal makes his way over to the wine rack. “Already there.”

Even while Satchmo does his business, Peter can’t stop smiling. The end of the case had played out perfectly. Even better than they could have planned it. After what felt like weeks of dead ends and closed doors, this was exactly what they needed.

“Good dog,” Peter says, patting Satchmo’s back as he runs inside.

“Approve?” Neal asks, holding up a bottle of red.

He almost says yes, but something changes his mind. “We could drink that.” He heads over to the liquor cabinet, pushes a few bottles aside, and removes the one he’s looking for. “Or we could drink this.” It’s scotch. Expensive scotch. Good scotch. 

Neal raises his eyebrows. “Seriously?”

“Come on. It’s Friday night. We’ve got no place to be and a lot to celebrate.” Even though Neal hasn’t answered, Peter is already filling two glasses with ice.

“Whatever you say, boss.”

###

Elizabeth cannot wait to take off her shoes, grab a glass of wine, and put her feet up. Maybe she can talk Peter into giving her one of his foot rubs… “Hey, hon,” she says when she opens the door.

“It’s my wife!” Peter says, getting up from the couch where he was sitting with Neal. He trips over the carpet but catches himself at the last second.

“Whoa, easy.”

He waves her off. “My beautiful wife.” He kisses her, hard and deep and tasting like scotch. That explains the tripping.

She pulls back and runs a hand through his hair. His tie is loose around his neck and the sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to the elbows. “You okay?”

“Neal’s here.”

From the couch, Neal gives a little wave. “Hey, El.”

“Hi, Neal.” She turns her attention back to her husband. “You’re drunk. Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“A good thing. We got him, honey. We got him good.”

She kisses him again and practically feels her blood alcohol level rise from the contact. “That’s great. I’m so proud of you. Hey, why don’t you go sit down?” The “before you fall down” is understood.

“Good idea.” Peter stumbles twice on his way back to the couch, but once he’s there he looks more relaxed and happy than she’s seen in months.

“What about you?” El asks, nodding to Neal. “You drunk?”

“Nah, just had one or two.”

Peter gasps. “Liar! You are too drunk!” The last sentence sounds more like one long word than four distinct ones.

Neal pats Peter’s knee. “If you say so, buddy.”

Peter looks back and forth between El and Neal, incredulous. “You drank more than I did! And you were just doing that…you know…” Peter wiggles into a few dance moves. “The dance.”

Neal ducks just in time to avoid getting hit by a stray elbow. “Oh, no. No way. There is absolutely no way I did _that_.”

El has to duck into the kitchen to hide her laughter. While alcohol makes most people better dancers, her husband does not fall into that “most.” She grabs two water bottles from the fridge.

“Tell her,” Peter says. “Tell her the truth. You’re drunk.”

“El, I’m not drunk.”

She hands one of the bottles to Peter. He turns his nose up at it, probably at its non-scotch qualities. When she hands the other bottle to Neal, he looks right at her. His blue eyes are clear and wide. Unlike her disheveled husband, his shirt is barely wrinkled. Even his tie clip is still in place. He removes the cap from the water bottle and takes a drink with no problem.

“I don’t know, honey. He looks pretty sober to me. I think you might be the only one having too much fun tonight.”

The water bottle slips out of Peter’s grasp. “He’s a con man!”

Neal lifts a hand like a stop sign. “ _Former_ con man.”

“Con men _lie_. Neal is _lying_.”

Neal stands and smiles at her. “El, you look like you’ve had a long day. Why don’t you let me get you a glass of wine?”

She smiles at the charming offer. “Why, thank you, Neal. That would be lovely.”

Peter mumbles something unintelligible.

She’s just about to make herself comfortable on the couch when there’s a crash from behind her. She turns in time to see Neal giggle at the mess of knocked-over wine glasses in front of him. He honest-to-God giggles.

Then he straightens and says, “It’s okay. None broke.”

El heads over to him, smirk on her face. “So, you’re sober, huh?”

He scoffs and attempts to right a glass but knocks over another. “What, just because I knock over a few glasses you think I’m drunk? These things are like dominoes…”

“Oh, honey. It wasn’t the clumsiness that tipped me off. It was the giggle. Neal Caffrey doesn’t giggle.”

A grin crosses Neal’s face. A part silly, part sweet, part drunk, completely and totally adorable grin. “Drunk Neal sometimes giggles.”

She smiles. “You don’t say?”

He holds a finger up to his lips. “Shh. Don’t tell Peter.”

“Heard that,” Peter says. “You’re drunk, Caffrey. Drunk. D. R. A…”

Well, given the circumstances, getting forty percent of the letters correct isn’t bad.

“Okay, giggly boy. Why don’t you go sit down before you hurt yourself? I’ll clean this up.”

“That’s a good idea,” Neal says as he heads to the couch, “because apparently I am drunk.”

“El,” Peter says. “El. Elizabeth.”

El rolls her eyes as she straightens the last glasses. “Yes, darling?”

“Come cuddle with me. Please? I missed you today. It was a good day, but I missed you.”

Drunk or not, she can’t resist that. She pours a glass of wine and plops down on the couch in between the two men. Peter slips his arm over her shoulders and she curls into his side and the familiar scent of his cologne.

“Third wheel alert, third wheel alert,” Neal says, cupping his hands around his mouth like he’s announcing to the entire neighborhood.

El pokes at his leg. “You’re not a third wheel.”

“Yeah? Well, you’re cuddling with Peter. Who’s cuddling with me?”

She turns to her husband and places a kiss on the five-o’clock shadow right below his chin. “Honey? Can I cuddle with both you and Neal?”

Peter glances at Neal. Blinks hard at his wife. “Am I going to remember this tomorrow?”

“Probably not.”

“Is he?”

“Definitely not,” Neal answers for her.

“Okay then. Get over here, Caffrey.”

Instantly, Neal slides over and wraps an arm around her shoulders from her other side. He’s warm and solid and she feels infinitely safe and loved with them surrounding her.

“Better?” El asks Neal.

Neal nods a drunk, wobbly nod. “Much.”

“Good.” She kisses Neal’s right temple then Peter’s left. That’s when she notices that Neal’s hand is on Peter’s shoulder. His thumb is moving up and down ever so slightly, and Peter isn’t pulling away. Far from it.

The guys may not remember this tomorrow.

But El will.

She smiles, sips her wine, and is so very happy.


End file.
